


cross the blue line

by starboykeith



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, First Meetings, Fluff, Ice Hockey AU, M/M, Mentions of Other Voltron Paladins, Mutual Pining, Pining, ice hockey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-06
Updated: 2017-09-06
Packaged: 2018-12-24 20:01:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12019953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starboykeith/pseuds/starboykeith
Summary: Keith's the newbie on his college ice hockey team, and he captures his captain's attention.





	cross the blue line

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ladyshinx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyshinx/gifts).



> thank you so much shinx, i hope you enjoy it!
> 
> i had basically zero knowledge of ice hockey before the research i did for this, so if anything is wrong or clumsy, i apologise

Keith prefers practising in the evening, and late on a Friday night the rink is deserted, everyone out partying and drinking and losing brain cells, and Keith has the place to himself. 

He shoots goals, practises his angles, hits pucks at random trajectories and tests how easily he can intercept them in order to score. He's good, he _knows_ he's good; but he's also the newbie, and that means he has to be twice as impressive. 

There aren't many first-years on the team – Keith thinks there's one other, and he's never spoken to them – and he’d felt intimidated by the others, who were obviously all already close, making Keith the outsider. Again. 

But he's used to that, and if his only concern is being skilled, being a good team player, everything will be golden. Keith prefers the ice of the rink to the chill of strangers anyway. 

“Hey,” comes a voice, and Keith has to do some serious footwork to avoid slipping over in surprise. “Keith, right?” 

Keith comes to a stop, turning to see Takashi Shirogane himself standing at the entrance to the rink. He's got his skates on, but didn't encroach on Keith's space without asking, and Keith appreciates that. 

Shiro knows for definite that his name is Keith – they had a horribly awkward meeting for the new school year, where they went around in a circle and said their names and a fun fact, and Keith only just managed to prevent himself from blurting out, "Hippos are my favourite animal" – but Keith knows an icebreaker when he sees one. 

He refuses to keep up the pretense, though. 

“Hey, Shiro.” He moves a little closer, past the blue line, because Shiro seems reluctant to come onto the ice without an invitation, and Keith isn't willing to issue one. “What's up?” 

“Came to practise,” Shiro says casually, and Keith stares, wondering if Shiro expects him to apologise for hogging the rink, or something entitled like that. A couple of the other players seem to expect Keith to give ground just because he's the newest player, and Keith doesn't know enough about Shiro to assume he'd be any different. “You're good, you know.”

“I assume that's why you let me on the team,” Keith says dryly before he can think better of it, and he bites his lip. He hadn't meant to be rude, just unfortunately quick-witted, and desperately hopes he hasn't insulted his captain. 

But Shiro laughs, and loud, too, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and Keith feels himself smiling. 

“Can't deny that,” Shiro says, and the smile he gives Keith warms him all the way through despite the chill. “You wanna practise?”

Keith swallows, uncertain. Shiro waits. 

“I can leave,” he offers. 

“No point me kicking you off the ice,” Shiro says easily. “Besides, it'll be good to practise together.”

He still waits for Keith's nod before stepping onto the ice, and Keith retrieves the last puck he'd used, circling around until he's facing Shiro. 

“Do you want to shoot goals?” Keith asks stiffly. He'd been waiting for Shiro to speak first, but Shiro had just studied him. Keith tries not to wonder or care what Shiro was thinking. 

“Sure,” Shiro says, like he'd been waiting for Keith to ask, and he smiles again. He gives smiles easily, and it's easy to be in his presence, too; Keith doesn't feel stifled, nor like his time has been intruded upon. It'll be nice to practise with someone else after nights of solitary training, and even nicer that he's practising with the team member Keith had identified as both most agreeable and most handsome. 

Not that he creates a ranking for either of those things, of course. 

Not that either matter out on the ice. 

They both play forward, but Keith supposes Shiro must have received some training in goaltending to be so confident in the net. Shiro moves smoothly into the goal crease, batting the other four pucks towards him in neat lines Keith easily catches with his stick. They haven't played another team competitively yet, but the new information has Keith thinking strategy. Shiro will probably be a generous passer, he thinks; someone who knows when to pass the damn puck and doesn't keep it selfishly for his own grab at glory. 

“Okay!” Shiro calls out to him, and Keith admires his form, the lines of his shoulders as he crouches – he plays hybrid style, Keith guesses. “Whenever you're ready!”

He's not wearing the right equipment to play goaltender, Keith thinks, but they're only practising, so it doesn't matter. He resolves to be a little careful nevertheless. 

Keith's biggest strength is his speed, and so he wastes no time sending the first puck sailing for the net. It's not a hard shot to avoid; Keith waits for the _crack_ of Shiro's stick connecting with the puck before swiping for another, hoping to catch Shiro off-guard, but Shiro spins and catches it just in time, such a close save that the puck runs parallel to the net barely a foot away. 

Soon enough they're moving, Keith flying across the ice to hit back as Shiro catches all his attempts and sends them sailing back to him. 

Then there's an opening; Shiro's moved too far from the net to block one of Keith's angled shots, and Keith has a puck ready. He could score before Shiro's even turned around, but in that moment of decision Shiro turns to him and smiles, and Keith trips over his own feet and fumbles the shot. 

He makes a frustrated noise, hearing Shiro's answering laugh, and mutters, “Fuck.” He has a vague sense it's the beginning of the end. 

They practise a little longer, growing increasingly breathless and flushed and Keith's pretty sure he can't feel his fingers, and then begin clearing up, fetching the pucks and putting their equipment away. Once in the locker room, it's too hot for thick sweaters and they hurriedly strip them off, the heavy air unpleasant after the chill of the rink. Shiro's shirt rides up and Keith's eyes fix helplessly on the muscles of his stomach, blushing when Shiro almost catches him staring. 

Keith's putting his skates in his locker when Shiro asks, “Do you want to get a coffee?”

He doesn't mean to be short with Shiro, but Keith's first response is, “Don't you have a party to go to, or something?”

Shiro looks a little hurt when Keith turns to him, and Keith feels instantly guilty, but it's too late to take it back. 

“No,” Shiro says, just as flatly. "I don’t, actually.”

This time, Keith catches himself before he says something stupid. “Sorry,” he says quickly. He wants to explain further, but he doesn't want to give too much of himself away, so settles for, “Starting here was pretty nerve-wracking.”

“I get it,” Shiro says tentatively. Keith feels the hot stirrings of embarrassment, of guilt at being such a difficult person to interact with, but Shiro smiles at him.

“You'll get there eventually,” he says, and Keith can be sure he hasn’t insulted Shiro, at least. “Really though, about that coffee – “ 

“Yes,” Keith interrupts, and receives a beaming smile for his effort that feels like looking into the sun. “That'd be – really nice, actually.” 

 

* * *

 

After that, Keith's life gets a little easier. 

It's wrong to capitalise off Shiro's popularity, Keith knows, but his teammates side-eye him less, and Shiro smiles at him more, and it seems like a perfect arrangement. 

Training gets easier and easier, and sometimes Keith actually finds himself looking forward to it. He learns Lance and Hunk come as a pair; learns to look for the height difference between Pidge and Matt instead of just glasses and short hair; learns to stop his heart tripping over whenever Shiro so much as glances at him.

They’re a good team, despite some initial friction – Lance just gets on Keith’s nerves, and it doesn’t help when Lance responds to Keith’s frustration by winding him up _more_ , skating circles around him and laughing as Keith lunges for him; he might be fast, but Lance is just as agile, and nothing makes Keith angrier. But Lance is a good defenceman, despite also being an asshole, and Keith can’t help but notice how a reprimand from Shiro gets both his and Lance’s behaviour straightened out. He seems to instil the want to be better in everyone, and Keith admires him for it; it’s clear, when watching Shiro and watching the team, why he was chosen as leader.

They win their first match. 

Keith's panting, exhilarated; it's been so long since he's played _properly_ , since he's felt the cold rush of air in his lungs and the slice of his skates and the roar of a crowd, and as the buzzer sounds he heads for Hunk, ending up skating alongside Lance.

“Good game!” Lance shouts, loud to be heard over the music and the commentary and the noise of it all, but he's pink-cheeked with enthusiasm as well. He claps the back of Keith's helmet and grins, and it's weird how being congratulated by someone Keith's argued with for weeks can mean so much.

“You too!” he yells, and then they reach the line where the rest of their teammates are gathered, knocking helmets and sticks and all of the other stupid celebratory practices Keith secretly loves. A hand on his shoulder makes him turn, and then Shiro claps him on the back of the head, grinning.

“You were great, Keith!” he says excitedly, and it warms Keith all the way through.

In the locker room, they're abuzz with chatter, but Keith turns his back, running hot with exhilaration and the power in being _part_ of something, but overwhelmed, too. He'd showered while the others were still animatedly discussing highlights, and so when Shiro comes over to him, Keith's fully dressed while – Keith nearly chokes on his tongue when he turns – Shiro's only in a towel. 

It's not like he hadn't _looked_ before, but now, confronted with Shiro half-naked and flushed and dripping in front of him, Keith thinks his sudden breathlessness is understandable. 

“You'll come out with us after, right?” Shiro asks, and there's still the glimmer of victory in his eyes and Keith can't bear to turn him down.

“Yeah,” he says, and Shiro grins. 

He and Shiro always tend to gravitate towards each other at the victory parties – Keith always braces himself to sit alone in the corner, but Shiro always drags him out or sits down with him, brings him a drink and earns them a wolf-whistle from Lance across the room that never fails to make Keith go bright red.

The majority vote to go to a pizza restaurant, and Keith braces himself to make the, “I’m not hungry,” excuse and pick something up on the way home later. He’s never liked pizza – it’s something about how _much_ it is, from the sweating grease, to cheese that tastes like rubber, to rivers of tomato sauce bleeding out in his hands. It’s just an unpleasant experience.

And the team goes out for pizza a _lot_.

So Keith makes his excuses, smiling and waving away questions of, “Are you sure?” sipping his coke and nibbling politely at the single slice he was persuaded – _forced_ – into having. Hunk and Lance abandon them for the pool table before long, and Pidge and Matt are embroiled in a heated argument about the empty net situation that had allowed them to win the game with 2-3. Shiro’s disappeared, and Keith has no idea where he’s gone until he catches him sneaking back into the restaurant hiding something under his coat.

“What’ve you got there?” Keith asks, eyeing him suspiciously. Shiro beams at him, and Keith’s wariness only increases.

“Brought you a burger,” Shiro says finally, and Keith blinks as Shiro presses a box – _it’s a fucking McDonald’s burger_ , Keith realises incredulously – into his hands, glancing surreptitiously at the wait staff.

He stares at Shiro for a long moment. Shiro raises his eyebrows, and Keith starts laughing.

“I can’t believe you,” he manages, grinning at Shiro, who looks far too pleased with himself. “You – what is that, a ten minute walk?”

“Maybe.”

“ _Why_?”

“I _know_ you don’t like pizza,” Shiro says, hushed like it’s a secret, and Keith bites his lip, glancing at his uneaten food. He’d tried not to be the asshole who made everyone accommodate his preferences, but clearly hadn’t been subtle enough. “And I know you like burgers.”

Keith hesitates then, because Shiro had _noticed_ , and it makes him flustered to think that Shiro had remembered and would do something so nice like this for him. He can’t remember making a comment about it, so Shiro must have noticed on his own terms. The thought makes him feel warm, and the smile he gives Shiro is genuine and suddenly Shiro looks a little flustered, too.

“And what did you get me?” Lance asks, appearing out of nowhere and slinging an arm around Shiro’s shoulders.

“Guess I forgot,” Shiro says, shrugging him off.

“Someone’s playing favourites,” Matt says, and as Keith glances up, he sees Matt and Lance exchange a look that makes his insides freeze.

“You’re ridiculous,” Keith says to Shiro, and gets a blinding smile in return.

 

* * *

 

Keith has enough sense to admit that his purely aesthetic appreciation of Shiro has quickly exploded into a full-fledged crush. And it’s not his fault, really. How was he supposed to know that the captain of the ice hockey team was also kind, and funny, and generous, and lights a fire in Keith every time he’s on the receiving end of that handsome smile –

A full-fledged, _pathetic_ crush, Keith amends.

Still, even knowing Shiro makes horrible dad jokes and trips over his own feet when he’s not on the ice and is actually pretty lame doesn’t stop Keith from _looking_. He tries to be subtle about it, but it’s not his fault, really: they do have cubicles to change in if they want privacy, but Shiro walks around half-naked without a care in the world.

It’s on one such occasion that Keith spaces out, divested of much of his gear but still clutching his elbow pads as Shiro finds excuses to walk the entire length of the changing room in just a towel, and when Shiro taps him on the shoulder Keith’s gaze goes first to his abs, and then his pecs, and then his face.

 _Priorities_ , he thinks, and then wants to punch himself.

“You okay, Keith?” Shiro asks in concern, and Keith blinks at him for a moment. “Sorry, I know that was a pretty gruelling session.”

Keith shakes himself – _get it together, Kogane_. “Yeah,” he manages, clearing his throat. “Uh, fine.” He sounds unconvincing even to himself, and happily watches Shiro walk away, but then he turns back to Keith, taking a swig from his water bottle and holding it out.

“Here,” Shiro says earnestly. Keith thinks of his own water, concealed in his bag, and takes it without hesitation.

He _is_ pretty exhausted, to be fair – Shiro’d had them fiercely marking each other’s plays, and it had been nearly impossible to score when they were hell-bent on wrecking everyone else’s chances – but Shiro probably thought he’d looked spacey when Keith was actually zoning out just watching him.

“Thanks,” Keith says, exhaling heavily to get his breath back. When he looks at Shiro, Shiro’s gaze flickers guiltily back from where he’d been staring at Keith’s – mouth?

Surely not.

Their fingers touch as Keith hands the bottle back, and Keith shivers all the way through, finding a smile to assure Shiro he’s fine.

It’s a moment later, when Shiro’s turned again to rummage through his bag, that Keith realises. Their lips had touched the same place, he thinks frantically, and that’s basically a kiss, right?

Keith knows he’s reaching new levels of pathetic, but he licks his lips absent-mindedly, eyes following Shiro as he walks to a shower cubicle.

If Shiro hadn’t come over and offered Keith water, a lot of things would have happened. Keith would have started getting changed. He wouldn’t still be staring at Shiro as he walks away. He wouldn’t have seen Shiro unashamedly _drop his towel_.

Keith has to consciously shut his mouth, teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he stares shamelessly at Shiro’s ass, mind blank and burning the image into his brain because _what the fuck, Shiro_ –

Lance’s gleeful voice snaps him out of it – thankfully not directed at Keith, because he’d die if anyone noticed him staring – and Keith whirls around, hyper-focusing on getting changed and _not_ thinking about Shiro’s ass, because that might make things awkward for him right now and Keith just wants to get out of here and back to his room, suddenly feeling overheated despite the lingering chill of the ice.

He doesn’t stop thinking about it all day.

 

* * *

 

 Next training session, Shiro tells them all that he’s making Keith centre forward, his previous position, and swapping them so he’s now right wing.

Keith reckons he’d discussed it with Matt, because he only looks pleased, not shocked like the others – and it’s true that Shiro’s an amazing player, but some part of Keith feels like this was expected, almost, because Shiro’s been watching him closely for a while, giving more direct guidance, and Keith reckons he’s been thinking about it for a while.

“You’re the star,” Shiro tells him, a hint of pride in his voice, when Keith approaches privately to question his decision. “You’ll flourish with better range of movement; you’re our best goal-scorer because you look to see how things will pan out, and you’re not a jealous passer.” Keith looks away, embarrassed as Shiro praises him. “Maybe it’ll be more defensive than you’re used to, but it’s fast-paced and I think you’ll do good there.”

“What about you?” Keith forces himself to ask. He hates the thought of replacing Shiro.

He puts a hand on Keith’s arm. “You’re the best person for this position, Keith.”

Keith swallows, every sense attuned to where Shiro’s touching him. “Thanks, Captain,” he says playfully, and Shiro smiles at him.

By the time their next game rolls around, Keith’s well-practised in his new position. He’s not a power forward, like Shiro, but he’s fast, good at passing, and it doesn’t chafe him as much as he’d expected to see a goal opportunity and acknowledge that one of the others is better placed to score it.

He’s hovering on the edge of a struggle, waiting for Lance to get hold of the puck and pass it out, but it flies over to Shiro instead, at the opposite end of the rink and Keith moves over to support him, swearing as other players pass him and a defenceman reaches Shiro quicker than he can –

The crowd roars as the other team’s forward hurtles towards Shiro out of nowhere, body checking him so viciously Shiro’s thrown to the floor, landing hard on his back.

Keith growls and skates faster, ignoring the puck as it careens past him and focused on the opposing forward, who’s come to a stop and exclaims angrily as Keith hip-checks him, careful not to clip him and earn a penalty too. The referee exchanges words with Shiro and skates away to collar the opposing forward, and Keith gives him a smug smile as he passes.

Shiro takes the hand Keith offers him, tugging Shiro to his feet and looking him over despite knowing any injuries wouldn’t be visible.

“What’s the penalty for?” Shiro asks. The other forward is with the referee, and as they watch is led over to the penalty box.

“Elbowing,” Keith answers.

“They’re short-handed,” Shiro says as they move back into position, already calculating. The penalty will only last two minutes, but two minutes can be a lifetime.

“Are you alright?” Keith asks, turning to frown at Shiro. The referee’s arguing with the other captain, and Keith doesn’t care enough to listen. “You went down pretty hard.”

“Fine,” Shiro says, and Keith eyes him suspiciously.

“I don’t believe you.”

“You’re gonna have to,” Shiro says, and Keith turns his attention to the puck. The referee throws it down and they’re off again, and Keith doesn’t have chance to prod Shiro about his health again till the game is over.

They win. The game, the season – they _win_.

Keith tears his helmet off, uncaring of his hair and sweaty face because people are cheering, shouting for them, and Keith sees answering wild excitement in his team’s faces, high-fiving Pidge as she sails past.

“Keith!” Shiro shouts, and he’s not going much faster but Keith still spins as Shiro grabs his arm, grinning. Keith grabs for Shiro in return, and the momentum swings them so they’re face to face and much, _much_ closer than Keith had anticipated.

The crowd quietens to a dull roar in his ears and Keith can feel his heart racing as he stares up at Shiro, whose smile has softened, just for Keith.

“We won,” Shiro says, bright-eyed with enthusiasm.

“Yeah,” Keith breathes. Shiro’s hold on his arm slips down until he’s holding Keith’s hand, clumsy with their gloves but unmistakeable, and Keith’s heart leaps into his throat but he doesn’t have time to question it because Shiro’s leaning down and _kissing him_.

Keith hears himself make a soft, embarrassing noise before he gets a hold of himself and kisses back, vaguely aware of cheers and wolf-whistles in the background, and they’re both bright red when they pull back, grinning helplessly.

They don’t have time for anything else, though, skating over to the team and laughing, elated and happy and dizzy on the buzz of the crowd and victory thrumming through their veins.

Keith doesn’t see Shiro after that, too focused on keeping his eyes to himself in the changing room and shoving Lance away when he pulls Keith into a strangling hug, patting his head and exclaiming, “Finally!” right into his ear.

“Piss off,” Keith says, and Lance grins wider and ruffles his hair.

“Captain says we’re swinging by McDonald’s on the way back to his,” he says casually, elbowing Keith in the side as if he hadn’t assaulted Keith enough already. “I wonder why.”

Keith _feels_ himself going red, and he’s relieved when Hunk yells from the other room to hurry up if they want a ride, and Lance rushes to compile an innuendo and frees Keith from his stranglehold.

 

* * *

 

Shiro evidently took Pidge and Matt in his car, because he’s shuffling his feet standing outside when they pull up. Hunk and Lance exchange a _look_ , which they turn on Keith – Hunk’s smile is encouraging; Lance’s eyebrows are mildly disturbing – and then they disappear into Shiro’s apartment building, kidnapping Keith’s food while they’re at it and leaving Keith to give Shiro a hesitant smile.

“Hey,” he says, and he doesn’t know why he feels nervous _now_ when just an hour earlier they’d been kissing on the ice in full view of most of the student population, but he feels himself going red just from the shy look Shiro gives him.

“Hey,” Shiro says, and they smile nervously at each other for a moment before Keith decides to just go for it, grabbing Shiro’s hand.

“You wanna go up?” he asks, hoping to God his hand isn’t sweating.

“Just a sec,” Shiro says. “I want to give you something first.”

Keith doesn’t even have chance to question before Shiro’s kissing him, one hand on Keith’s cheek and harder than before, making Keith’s heart thump in his chest as he stretches up on his toes to kiss back. The swipe of Shiro’s tongue over his bottom lip has him biting back a moan, grip tightening on Shiro’s hand.

He almost complains when Shiro pulls back, but his voice is a little lower when he says, “Ready?” and Keith can do nothing but nod.

“I just lost a lot of money,” Matt tells them sourly as they enter the party hand in hand, and Keith hardly registers the wolf-whistles from the team because –

“You were _betting_?” he exclaims.

“You didn’t notice?” Shiro asks, and Keith splutters.

Matt claps Shiro on the shoulder. “Thought you’d never make a move.”

Shiro goes pink, and it’s a good look on him. “Me too,” he says, and Keith hides his smile.

**Author's Note:**

> please leave a comment if you enjoyed, and you can find me on twitter at twitter.com/starboysheith and tumblr at starboykeith.tumblr.com !


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